


What I Did to Survive

by ThisPeep



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Canon Compliant, Childhood Trauma, Drugs, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, not rly worth tagging under 'relationships'. this is a mormor fic, sheriarty but super glazed over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 01:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11197398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisPeep/pseuds/ThisPeep
Summary: “Never trust a survivor,” Sebastian says, the cherished words of Vonnegut coming to the forefront of his mind, “until you find out what he did to survive.”--Sebastian never really knows Jim. But he gets closer than anyone else does.





	What I Did to Survive

It’s a day full of pain and close escapes, and Sebastian is breathing through blood in his lungs when Jim asks, “Do you trust me?”

His eyes are even, barely even curious, and Sebastian meets them weakly. “Never trust a survivor,” Sebastian says, the cherished words of Vonnegut coming to the forefront of his mind, “until you find out what he did to survive.”

Jim smiles, and then he cuts a gash into Sebastian’s throat. 

Of course, Sebastian wakes up afterwards. In a white room-- he never understood what was meant to be relaxing about the fluorescent light harshened by stark reflectivity everywhere-- with his mouth too dry to speak. He finds himself without anyone to speak to, anyway, and he weakly feels for where his IV starts and clicks the top button he finds until it’s high pitched beeps of acceptance deepen to rejection, and he quickly falls back asleep.

 

  
“I’m home.” Sebastian calls, kicking the door closed and making his way into the living room. Empty. He drops his jacket on the chair and heads to the bedroom, finding Jim asleep in bed. He sits down, dipping the mattress, and repeats himself more quietly.

Jim opens an eye. “Good. You were almost about to feel missed for once in your life.” His eye closes, and he turns to face away from Sebastian before going back to sleep.

Sebastian grins, tugging his shirt over his head and pulling the covers out of Jim’s greedy death grip to get under them, and then he covers them both up.

“Stop smiling.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“I can hear you smiling.” Jim’s eyes are open and meeting Sebastian’s in a flash, and his gaze travels down to his throat. His eyes narrow at the bandage.

Sebastian pulls it off.

“See?” 

Finally, a touch. Even just the gentle brush of fingertips over a still-aching scar.

“I gave you a permanent smile. Look how pretty it is.” A sigh, and the hand retracts while Jim closes his eyes and settles down again. “Now you don’t need your mouth at all anymore.”

“You’d miss my mouth.”

“Would I?”

The response comes just a split second to long for the confidence it’s said with to ring true. “Of course.” He forces another grin. “You’d die without my banter.”

Not needing a verbal response, one of the corners of Jim’s mouth turns upwards slightly. Within minutes, he’s back asleep. 

Sebastian glances over to the clock in the room, and he lets out a huff of breath before sliding out of bed and going to the bathroom to redress his wound. He opened the window in there, sunlight shining through from overhead, before he turned his attention to rebandaging the gash.

 

  
The cup of tea is long cold, Sebastian notes, as he walks out and sees Jim staring at it intensely from his place in a chair. Or, not really at it, but past it. Thoughts were spinning through his head, probably projected out in front of him, just beyond what Sebastian could see. Which was a cold cup of tea.

He went to the kitchen and started the kettle boiling, then walked over and took out a bottle of beer from the fridge, holding it to his head and focusing on slowing his breathing. The kettle went off before his senses dictated it should, and he pulled the room back to attention and finished the cup of tea, walking out to Jim and silently replacing the cups.

Jim’s hand was wrapped around his wrist tight before Sebastian could move. 

“I was drinking that.” His eyes hadn’t moved from the distance he saw.

“I made you a new cup.” Soft, reassuring, and beyond anything tired.

Jim’s eyes moved to Sebastian face, the glaze he saw fading away, and then he looked back over to cup, noticing the mug’s new colour. “Ah.”

“Can I go now?”

The fingers let go, and it’s only then that Sebastian realizes Jim’s nails had sunk through layers of skin. Little droplets of blood rose to the surface. 

Sebastian appreciated how small they are, how unlike his dream they are. “Thanks, Jim.”

“Boss.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, not that Jim’s looking to see. “Thanks, boss.”

“Now go.” 

An exaggerated bow, and Sebastian went back off to his room to avoid sleeping there instead. He wandered back out hours later, and Jim didn’t look like he’s moved. But his tea was gone. And his arms were bloody. Sebastian grabbed his jacket from the closet and leaves, and Jim doesn’t say farewell.

 

  
“How can you think like that?” Sebastian tilted his head as much as he can, amused by Jim’s legs laid over the back of the couch and his head hanging where his legs ought to be.

“Better than you can normally.” He stuck his tongue out, but kept typing on his phone.

Sebastian sat next to him, resting a hand on his ankle. “You look like an idiot.”

“Well, you actually are an idiot, so who’s the real loser now?”

“Will you suck my dick like that?”

Jim laughed. “God no.”

“Ah, yeah, I suppose not being able to breath around it makes you lightheaded enough already. Though you passing out would be a nice silence for once.”

When he glanced over, Jim’s smile is still there. “You’d be bleeding out before unconsciousness took over.”

“Dirty talk. I like it. Keep going.”

Jim clicked the phone off, hands folding on his stomach. “You’re adorably disturbed. It’s arguably endearing.”

“The only endearing thing about me, I’m guessing?”

“Nah. There’s also how easily you give in to my every whim.”

“Wanna fuck?”

“No.” Jim turned his phone back on. “Go jerk off again.”

“Again?”

“Like you haven’t already today?”

Sebastian frowned. “Fuck off.”

Jim continued to work.

 

  
The wine glass shattered against the arms Sebastian had barely brought up in time to protect his face, and seconds later a knife grazed his wrist before lodging in the wall. 

“You weak, useless excuse of a man!” 

Blood is dripping from every few inches of Sebastian’s body.

Jim’s lip is split and his ribs are most likely bruised. Neither of those injuries are from Sebastian’s mistake on the job. He hisses at Sebastian like a man in a shark cage.

“Is this what you did to survive, huh?” Sebastian pulls the knife out of the wall and lurches at Jim, pinning him against the fridge with the knife above his heart. “Abuse the only people who could stand your psychotic ass?”

“Stand it?” Jim giggled, blood dripping down his chin. “Your worship it. Without me, you’re nothing.” His knee crashes into Sebastian’s crotch, and the knife pushes in only a centimeter before Jim’s hand bends his wrist back harn and Sebastian is forced to drop it.

“With or without me, you’re nothing but a scared boy lashing out at the world.” Grunted as Jim’s head is slammed against refrigerator door.

“You’ve never seen me lash out.” Jim murmured.

“Show me.”

Minutes later, their clothes were torn apart and laying scattered on the floor. Hours later, Sebastian still had blood flowing but from new bite marks, and Jim’s back was a watercolour painting of blues and blacks. They slept soundly on each other, limbs tangled in each others as much as the blankets.

 

  
When Jim came, it’s was like all his energy finally had somewhere to go. When he falls silent, it’s not a staring type, it’s not a thinking type. It’s a relieving silence. Sebastian considered himself pretty decent in bed before he met Jim, but he’s never seen someone look as content when they orgasm as his boss does.

The bottle of whiskey was taken from Sebastian’s hand, and Jim messily gulped down a few mouthfuls, spilling some down his jaw and on Sebastian’s chest.

Sebastian isn’t quiet when he comes, and he drops his head back and groans while Jim laps up sweat and alcohol from his skin. He glanced at Jim after, bringing up a hand to tuck hair behind the man’s ear. 

“You’re gorgeous.”

Jim took in a deep breath that he released slowly. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

Sebastian’s fingers started tracing the scars that covered Jim. He liked the faded ones the most, the ones that are clearly from adolescence. The ones that can barely be seen with the others standing out on his flesh. 

It isn’t as though Jim after complains. Sebastian wouldn’t say he enjoys it, necessarily, but he seems to appreciate Sebastian remembering that Jim has survived. He doesn’t know what Jim has survived, specifically, but he knows that Jim will survive him. Sebastian doesn’t know, however, whether the reverse is true.

Jim’s mouth fixed itself to Sebastian’s, and Sebastian’s attempted murmur of wondering when Jim will kill him is unintelligible. 

 

  
Smoke filled the air. Sebastian has a cigar that’s contributing to it, Jim’s poison is far sweeter. The air is thicker with moans than haze, and Jim takes another sip of his sickly tea. 

Sebastian had not been given permission to join. Or do anything at all. Jim had told him to wait, and not partake in anything, despite the opium he was languidly enjoying. 

It’s obvious when Sebastian’s task is complete. He nudged Jim, getting his attention, and just looks in the right direction. Jim’s gaze followed before landing on the man he’d been waiting for, and Jim stands up and walks off, a hand waving Sebastian out of duty as he does so.

 

  
“So that was Sherlock, huh? I expected something more impressive. More human looking.” Sebastian chuckles.

“Jealous?”

“Of what? The fact you’ve got an tingle to kill him?”

“Yes.”

Sebastian sent Jim an unimpressed look. “No. I don’t want to die, thanks.”

“Boo. And I thought you were fun.”

“I never said I wanted to live, either.”

“Not without me.”

“Not really the deciding factor.”

Jim giggled. “Okay, honey. Sure.”

 

  
Life flipped as the game started. Jim took to moaning out Sherlock’s name during sex, and obsessing even more than usual over jobs. He was awake by noon most days. Sebastian would say that he was in love, if he thought Jim hadn’t trained himself out of love years ago.

And then he died. And Sebastian felt numb. 

He found a note afterwards. Not a suicide note, although it burned that Jim knew that would be the result and he didn’t even give Sebastian a warning. 

_I survived by knowing this day would come._

Sebastian, however, wasn’t nearly that patient.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this instead of sleeping so uh. sorry about all the typos that are definitely there


End file.
